by Layla Frost
I opened my mouth to tell him that, but he stood and flicked off the light.
“Go back to sleep.” His gruff order was softened by his sweet, lingering kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
Excitement and anticipation bubbled in me, and I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep.
But I was out immediately—likely before he even got downstairs.
Maximo
“Say that again.”
In the dark, dank room far below Moonlight, the squirrelly motherfucker tied to a chair spit out a mouth full of blood before repeating, “Viktor Dobrow paid me to hang around your resorts.”
Viktor Dobrow.
Club owner, drug and woman peddler, and pain in my fucking ass.
“Why?” I asked.
“He didn’t say, and I’m not stupid enough to question an order.”
“But you’re stupid enough to come here?”
“He paid me.”
That was all we’d be getting from Tommy Janson because that was all he knew. He was exactly the kind of idiot who’d blindly follow whatever orders he was given—especially if he profited without having to do any actual work.
Even if said orders landed him on my radar.
And in The Basement.
Unless it was going to get too messy—like with Murphy—The Basement was where we brought people. People who owed me. People who crossed me. People who fucked me over.
And, in my eyes, Tommy Janson was guilty of all three.
Ash stood with Marco, waiting for my order.
Jerking my head toward Tommy, I said, “Dump his body outside one of Dobrow’s clubs.”
“What?” Janson shrieked. “Nah, man, no way. I’m not going down for just watching your place. I didn’t see shit to report back. I didn’t make trouble.”
“Christ, I hate liars. You got caught with your hand in a woman’s purse.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t steal anything from you.”
“You steal on my property, you make my guests feel unsafe. That’s costing me money.”
Fucking dumbass.
“I’ll work for you, man. You wouldn’t even have to pay me. I’ll tell Dobrow whatever you want, and I’ll report back to you. I’ll ask questions. I’ll be your eyes and ears.”
I had eyes and ears all over the city, ranging from high-level officials to card slappers, showgirls, and a very adult Buzz Lightyear who worked the Strip, posing with a variety of other toys. There were things to learn from everyone, but usually those who were dismissed and disregarded garnered the most useful information.
It was easy to overhear things when people forgot they existed.
But deals only worked when I trusted the person. And I didn’t trust Tommy with a spork.
“I want to know when it’s done,” I told Marco.
“Wait! C’mon, we can figure this out. I can do something. I got good connections. I can score anything your clients need, I swear.”
That wasn’t a surprise. The sallow, waxiness of his pasty skin made it clear he knew his way around drugs.
I didn’t like that shit in my casinos, I sure as hell wasn’t going to supply it. Even at the makeshift arenas, coke, weed, and limited uppers were allowed, but anything else was confiscated by security during pat-downs and tossed. It hadn’t taken long before people stopped trying to sneak it in.
Ash took out his little black kit, unzipped it, and pulled out a syringe. He glanced at it before putting it back and getting a different one. “Ready?”
“I hate this part,” Marco sighed, approaching Tommy.
“Whoa, point made. Okay? Point made. I won’t go back to Dobrow at all. I won’t ever contact you. You’ll never see me again, I swear it.” The sound of something dripping on the floor came seconds before the scent of ammonia filled the small space.
Marco grimaced. “Damn, just once can’t someone keep their piss where it belongs.”
“Look how orange it is.” Ash shook his head. “Jesus, drink a glass of water every once in a while.” He smirked, undoing Tommy’s belt. “Oh wait.”
Cruel bastard.
“What’re you doing?” Tommy shifted away as his belt was pulled free, panic widening his eyes. “Get away from me, you freak.”
“Trust me, if I swung that way, I’d have higher standards.”
After Marco pushed the sleeves of Tommy’s grubby shirt up, exposing the plethora of scabs, scars, and track marks, Ash tightened the belt around Tommy’s upper arm.
He had to know we weren’t just giving him a free high, but that didn’t stop him from watching the needle like… well, like a junkie getting his next fix. His movements and protests were half-assed, and it didn’t take much effort for Marco to subdue him long enough for Ash to inject him.
I opened the door behind me and slipped out into the hall before the urine smell permeated into my clothes and not just my nostrils.
“Done?” Cole asked.
I lifted my chin. “Marco and you can handle the dump while Ash gets Juliet.”
Cole would jam Dobrow’s cheap security cameras so they could dump the body outside whichever of his clubs was most deserted.
Minus a few punches to Janson’s mouth, there were no signs of a struggle. Ash’s skilled rope work wouldn’t leave any bruising or abrasions, Tommy hadn’t put up a fight, and his own belt was used.
As far as anyone would be concerned, it was an OD.
But Dobrow would know.
“Get anything useful out of him?” Cole asked.
“Not unless you consider him pissing himself useful,” I said.
His lip curled. “I think that room has seen more piss than the toilets in this place. Why is everyone’s first instinct to piss themselves when they’re about to die?”
Not everyone.
Twice Juliet thought she was facing death, and twice she faced it with strength.
“When I die,” he continued, “it’ll be with a beautiful woman riding my dick and another riding my face. And, unlike that diplomat at Nebula with the golden shower fetish, there will be no piss involved.”
Little turned my stomach, but the reminder of how the diplomat had left that room did it. “Fucking hell, don’t ever mention that shit to me again. I had to toss the whole bed and hire one of the crews that handle crime scenes to scrub that place out.”
Cole smiled. “Did Serrano tell you the diplomat is trying to get tickets to the Angelo-Novak match next month? He wants to drop a shit-ton on bets and a suite.”
“I don’t give a shit how much he wants to spend, unless he’s willing to sleep in a room coated in plastic, he’s not welcome.”
“Better tell Serrano that.”
I checked my watch.
I had a shit-ton of preparations and inevitable fires to put out for the event that night. Stopping to deal with Janson had set me behind, so I needed to get caught up quickly if I wanted to have time for dinner with Juliet.
I didn’t have time to argue with Serrano.
But I also didn’t have the stomach to face a destroyed, golden showered room again.
Rubbing my palm down my face, I sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Good luck. You know how he is with money.”
Yeah, he liked it and wasn’t big on turning away people willing to part with theirs. He’d set up a fight between chipmunks if he could get people to bet on it.
Pressing my thumb to the elevator’s panel, the doors slid open and I went inside. It quickly traveled up before opening on the ground floor.
I took off toward the arena to see what fresh hell awaited.
And to argue with Serrano about a piss-happy diplomat.
Juliet
Holy shit.
I’d known Maximo’s casinos were beautiful. I’d also known they’d be better than my expectations because that was how it went with anything to do with Maximo.
But I had no idea Moonlight would be so absolutely breathtaking—and I’d only seen the outside.
Located not far of
f the Strip, the curvature and points of the main building resembled the phases of the moon. There was another taller building behind it, which I assumed was the hotel.
I had my nose practically pressed against the window as we drove closer.
“He’s gonna be pissed,” Ash murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Fighting the urge to nervously fidget, I placed my hands in my lap before immediately moving my right one off so my tennis bracelet didn’t snag the lace overlay of my magenta minidress.
Is this what the other half worries about?
Ruining their beautiful clothes with their equally beautiful jewelry?
Ash bypassed the main entrance and pulled up to a small road I hadn’t noticed through the greenery. Rolling down his window to punch a number into the keypad, the barrier gate opened and he drove up the path that edged a pond.
In the center, there was a fountain topped with a beautiful sculpture of a woman in a flowing dress. Even though it was solid, the way the dress was sculpted made it look as though it were moving in the breeze. She held a bow with the arrow drawn, a mix of femininity and badassery.
“Who is that statue of?” I asked.
“Artemis. She’s the Greek goddess of the hunt and the moon.”
Continuing up the road, we drove under the overpass where a line of cars, limos, and idling taxis were backed up. Ash pulled into a tucked-away spot near security vehicles before killing the engine and getting out.
I opened the door and climbed out. “Do I need my bag?”
“I’ll bring your bag up to the room.”
I didn’t argue because I likely would’ve toppled trying to lug that sucker around—Vera’s idea of a weekend bag differed greatly from mine.
As we walked, he pulled his phone out and typed something. “Boss is near the shops.”
“Since I have zero clue where that is, lead the way.”
The electric doors slid open, and I stepped forward and gawked worse than a tourist seeing a line of showgirls for the first time.
Holy shit.
The outside was stunning, but it was nothing compared to the inside. The rounded glass atrium roof was covered in hundreds of thousands of twinkle lights that resembled the night sky. There was an attached twisting wrought iron arch spanning across with an illuminated half-moon.
Ash pointed to it, moving his hand with the curve. “Every hour it moves a spot to the next phase.”
“It’s so pretty.”
Crowds of people posed in front of the massive lattice wall in the center of the room. More twisted iron spelled out Moonlight in a whimsical font, the name surrounded by vibrant green vines and beautiful white flowers that entwined through the lattice.
“Moonflowers,” Ash supplied.
They found a theme and stuck with it, that’s for sure.
Everything fit, down to the tiniest detail. Even the tile under my feet were a soft blackish blue with the occasional silver old-timey moon design stamped on one.
I glanced around at all the security guards, employees, and prominent signs making it clear no one under twenty-one would be permitted on the gaming floor.
“Uh.” I stopped Ash and whispered, “Am I going to be allowed in?”
“You’re Maximo’s.”
My heart squeezed at the sound of that.
He started walking, and I worked to keep the guilty expression off my face as I moved with confidence.
Or tried to.
My worry was for nothing, though, because no one glanced my way. A few people raised their chins at Ash, but otherwise we were given a wide berth.
Well, in an official capacity, at least.
Ash wasn’t ignored by the women we passed, most of whom shifted to walk closer to him.
Surprisingly, he only gave them the same cursory glance he gave everyone else.
Keeping to the perimeter, we rounded a room packed with slot machines of every theme and style. Lights flashed, music and sounds rang out, people cheered or groaned.
It was sensory overstimulation times twenty.
We turned into a different area and went straight down the middle, passing table games of different types and limits. I averted my eyes from the blackjack and poker tables, my stomach clenching at memories I wished I could burn from my brain.
It seemed like we’d walked the entirety of the sprawling casino when we finally exited into a separate corridor. We turned and continued on, passing store after store. I glanced up at the second level that overlooked us, but I couldn’t see what any of those were.
When we reached the end of the hall, it opened into a smaller atrium that resembled the main one. In the center, another statue of Artemis—I was assuming that’s who it was—stood proudly above a waterfall fountain. It was beautiful.
But not as beautiful as the man who stood next to it with his hands in his pockets and his brooding eyes on me.
Belatedly realizing he wasn’t alone, I glanced at the small cluster of people. Positioned behind him, Marco looked bored, as usual. Cole tapped away at an iPad before passing it to another man.
My gaze skimmed over the man talking to Maximo, and though he looked familiar, I couldn’t place him. He continued talking even though he didn’t have Maximo’s full attention.
I slowed my steps, not wanting to interrupt.
It was the wrong move because Maximo shook his head and crooked a finger at me.
Oops.
Picking up the pace, my heels clicked on the tile as I hurried.
As soon as I got within reach, he hauled me to him and kissed me.
Right there.
At his work.
With people around.
As one of those people talked.
And it was not a quick peck. Or even a more affectionate yet still closed mouth one.
It was a kiss, with dancing tongues and nipping teeth. The kind that curled my toes and stole my breath.
Pulling away just enough so he could meet my eyes, Maximo said, “You look gorgeous, dove.”
“Thank you for the pretty dress, D—Maximo,” I hurried to correct.
At the name, his demeanor changed. His jaw clenched and his sharp eyes grew cold. His tone held that same coldness, stern and in full-on Daddy mode. “Who am I, Juliet?”
My gaze darted to the side—not that I could see anything but him.
Gripping my chin, he forced my eyes back to him. “I asked you a question, you know I expect an answer.”
In contrast with his even one, my voice was barely more than a whispered squeak. “I didn’t think you’d want me to call you that when there are other people around.”
“I don’t give a fuck who’s around. Who am I, Juliet?”
“Daddy,” I forced out.
“We’ll talk about this later.”
Oh shit.
I’m pretty sure talk is code for spank.
Keeping a possessive arm around me, Maximo turned me to face the others. He gestured to the man who looked like Derek Morgan from Criminal Minds. “That’s Miles, head of security.”
“I have your number,” I said before throwing my whole self directly into the garbage—in my mind, at least. In real life, I stammered an explanation. “In my phone. In case of an emergency.”
I could feel Maximo’s silent chuckle.
Good, he’s amused, not horrified.
Miles’ lips were tipped.
Good, he’s also amused, not planning a restraining order.
He offered me his hand. “I have your number, too. Nice to put a face to it, Juliet.”
Maximo continued the introductions, pointing to the man I vaguely recognized. “This is Serrano. You don’t have his number.”
I’m never living this down.
Serrano unexpectedly pulled me into a hug that lasted all of two-point-five seconds before Maximo tugged me back against him, wrapping his arm around my chest. Serrano wasn’t put-off as he grinned. “I understand you’re the one to thank for my
pay raise and bonus.”
The pieces clicked together, and I realized were I recognized him from. He’d been the emcee at the warehouse, and I’d made a throwaway comment about how he deserved more money for amping up the crowd.
I had no idea Maximo would actually do it.
“You did a good job drumming up last-minute bets,” I said.
Waving away my praise, Serrano shook his head. “Those rich assholes are all too happy to throw their money away.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But if you want to tell Maximo I deserve an extra week of vacation and a company car, that’d work.”
“You have a company car,” Maximo pointed out.
“It’s almost two years old. Practically a Flintstones car.” He shot me a wink before going serious as he gave Maximo his attention. “Anything else you can think of?”
“No, we should be set. Call if there’s any issues.”
“There’s always issues.”
“Call for the big ones.” Maximo turned toward Ash. “All good?”
Ash lifted his chin. “Quiet day. You get my message?”
“I’ll make plans,” he said ambiguously before checking his watch. “Go eat and we’ll meet at Supermoon in two hours.”
With their orders, Ash, Marco, and Cole took off to the right, Miles went to the left, and Serrano walked down the way I’d come.
Turning me in his hold so I was facing him, Maximo tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m so tempted to bring you up to the room, spank your ass until you can’t sit, and then fuck you until neither of us can move.”
I was right, talk was code for spank.
“But we need to eat. The rest will wait until later.” He studied me for a moment as he skimmed his fingers down my neck. “Glad you like that idea, too.”
I didn’t bother denying it. Because even if I swore the pain sounded horrendous, the coil of need that tightened low in my belly said otherwise.
“I set reservations at the French restaurant, but we can switch to Asian or— “
“French is good,” I answered instantly, my mind on bread.
Putting his palm to my lower back, Maximo steered me to a glass elevator. We rode it to the second floor and got off.
Like the downstairs, the long path was lined with stores and drink stands. We kept going until we reached a set of etched doors. Maximo opened one, holding it so I could enter first.
